


An Unconventional Ally

by Wizard95



Series: A Scot In Training [5]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, pubs, vodka and camaraderie?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 19:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizard95/pseuds/Wizard95
Summary: Collins is a bit done with everyone. Alcohol serves as a temporary chill pill - and fuels a rather rushed decision.





	An Unconventional Ally

"How's the nose?" Jack mockingly imitates the Wingco's voice as he downs his third glass of whisky that evening. Marley gives him an amused glance from his seat on the left, and Jack doesn't notice this particularly considerate gesture, but he also has a look around to ensure everyone else within earshot is too distracted to pay the Scot's words any mind. They are. "Not bleedin' - not thanks to ye, fuckin' prick."

Marley lets out a laugh and leans in to take the bottle away from his grasp and Jack pretends not to notice, because a voice at the back of his mind reminds him he's always been a lightweight, and only a day has passed since the nosebleed and the reprimand - if you can call a Head Nurse shoving a pair of anti-nausea pills on your mouth with little patience and even little consideration a 'reprimand'. She quite literally chased him out of her office blurting all sorts of threats should she see him engaging in any other 'funny business' before his - now confirmed - concussion died off.

Jack wonders what kind of menacing words she'd be throwing at him if she knew he was down at the pub knocking down scotch.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this - but Lenny was right. He is a self-absorbed wanker."

"Alright, I think you've had enough alcohol for tonight" Marley points out, voice seemingly taking on a more serious note, almost as if him agreeing with Leonard is the most preposterous notion, in comparison to him loudly calling a Wing Commander a prick in a room full of trainees and a handful of other high-ranking officers. "And we have to be up by mi--"

"Don't" Collins raises a hand close to Marley's face, shakes his head, "say a fuckin' word. You need to keep yer mouth shut lad, shut it."

_They'll_ need to be up at midday. He, will be up with just enough time to pack his belongings and make it to the train station so that he'll be on the next town over in time for recruitment. Perhaps they won't be so displeased when he turns up home with no RAF uniform but with an otherwise equally proud-deserving mission.

The matter was to defend their country, after all. From land or air or sea. Be it in a navy blue or an olive uniform, on an aircraft with goggles or on the ground carrying a rifle.

They'd understand, wouldn't they? That he'd failed but was willying to make up for it.

He finds himself filling up his glass again, as Marley is dragged out to the dance floor by a young brunette - perhaps even younger than Marley himself. The thought of being back home so soon terrifies him. He's not expected back there for another six months, not after all training is done. Hell, he's not even sure they're there.

With the mental picture of himself knocking on a door and it being opened to reveal his old man's disapproving frown, he reaches for the bottle once again and goes to pour it down on the now empty glass. That'd be his fifth, but fuck it.

He chokes on the last swallow when the bottle is abruptly snatched from his slim fingers and his whole body jerks due to the sudden movement.

He looks up to see Leonard staring down at him like he's just insulted his mother. And grandmother and great-grandmother.

"For fuck's sake" Collins blurts out, slamming down the glass on the table, the sound easily swallowed by the swing tunes being played over the incessant chattering. "You too? Come to babysit me, have you?"

Leonard takes a chug of the whisky and sits down next to him, much to Jack's chagrin.

"You can't be drinking - you fall down and break your face again it'll be on all of us" Lenny explains, his right arm coming to rest on the back of Jack's chair comfortably, and he leans back on his own chair and squints at the couples dancing enthusiastically.

"Ye should've thought 'bout that before ye kicked the fuckin' ball mate" and Collins tries to regain ownership of the bottle to no avail. It's successfully kept out of his reach. "Lenny, _fuck off_" Jack warns him, with a voice that doesn't sound very menacing and slurred words that come out in a very thick accent.

"Well I didn't mean to break your nose, for what it's worth" he shrugs, but still keeps his attention on the dance floor. Jack eyes him suspiciously, he looks sober enough not to be trusted.

"But ye did - now gimme the fuckin' bottle" he leans forward, leans on Lenny to try and reach his hand, the hand that is moving further away from him the more he tries to get ahold of it.

"Jack" Leonard finally turns his head towards him, with a steady voice and breath smelling of beer, Jack's suddenly aware that the colour of his eyes is green - very green. And those eyes are way too close and those lips are way too red - kissed another pair of crimson lipstick ones probably. With a matching dress. "You're drunk."

The seriousness with which he delivers the words tell Jack he's not going to back down. It's a good thing they're in a pub, then.

He gets up and pushes through the eager dancers and stand-byers to make his way towards the bartender and ask for another bottle. Michael's nowhere to be seen and Marley is too engrossed in his woo-ing to pay him any mind. Lenny doesn't care so much as to follow him. He leaves the money on the counter and doesn't wait for the change, suddenly eager for some fresh air and quiet.

Outside it's cold enough that he leans against the wall on his own, not even your usual puker stumbling around in discomfort.

He throws the cap forwards to see if it lands past the street lamp - it doesn't. After a couple of chugs he finds himself slowly sitting down on the damp sidewalk, heavy breath coming out in shapes before him, the chilly air making him shudder.

The street is deserted - the only sign of people the lively muffled-out sounds of a crowded pub behind him. People he suddenly feels the urge to be away from - be in his bed, quiet, warm, unknowing. Unconscious. Not-dwelling.

He's been in training for three months now - three wasted months. There'll be no use for all these Royal Air Force theoreticals when he's going to be just another private in a larger regiment. Not much of team-work when you're being shot at, he thinks. Not as much as being part of an air squadron anyway. How many men are there in a training boot camp? Five hundred? Ten hundred?

Certainly not twenty-four.

Ah, but that's all right. He'll be where he's meant to be. And so will Marley and Michael. They'll have one another at least.

He puts the bottle to his lips again to stop himself from crying. He really shouldn't be drinking - for his own sake - to prevent a nightmare of a headache. He can't quite bring himself to care, however.

He won't have a position to uphold come morning, no future rank to take care of. If the Air Marshal pulled up right now on his black car and got out of the driver's seat to see him drunk on the floor Jack wouldn't care - because he was sure he was being sent home before he could even live down the hangover.

And he _is_ being dismissed, that much he knows. At least a 70% is required to move on to technical training. He'll be lucky to get a sixty. He can try again, sure, they'll probably even encourage him to. The way Jack sees it, no point in putting off the inevitable. He'll be out there helping the war effort much quicker if he signs up for the army.

It's tough work - but there are little to no limitations for recruitment. They'll take him in without a second glance. He's got no asthma, no heart afflictions, perfect eyesight - although he's certain the Wingco would disagree on that.

_Fuck him_.

He puts the bottle down on the cobbled sidewalk next to him and fishes out a cigarette from the half-empty pack on his pocket.

But he doesn't find a light.

* * *

Someone's shaking him by the shoulder.

"Can you believe that fucking guy?!"

"Collins..."

He is suddenly snatched from his light sleep and lazily opens his eyes, expects to see Michael leaning over him announcing it's daylight.

He sees Lenny instead, with a spare jacket that looks like it could be _his_ jacket, and he watches as a group of three other trainees start walking along on their way out of the pub.

Jack blinks, disoriented, and brings his eyes back to Lenny, who's offering a hand.

"Come on" Lenny urges him, and Collins is suddenly aware of the dampness on his uniform, chilly air slipping in through his shirt - two opened buttons on the top.

"What time issit?" He blurts out as Leonard helps him to his feet and gives him the jacket - he also gives him a disapproving look and a roll of his eyes.

Leonard takes the cigarette he's smoking from between his lips to answer.

"Barely past ten. Reckon you've been out here a half hour - put the damn jacket on" he snaps at Collins' idle behaviour, gestures insistently at him with the smoking fag. "Jesus, you'll get us all a revoked pass."

Jack pays him no mind. The jacket is warm and smells of nicotine.

Lenny glances at the other three recruits, further away now, singing loudly as they walk out of sight into the mist.

"You awake yet?" Lenny asks him, hasty, unpatiently. "Jog along, your mates left ages ago."

And Jack's about to be grumpy about that, when he realises they probably thought he'd gone early - they couldn't have seen him slumped down on the side of the pub unless they'd come round the corner actually looking for him.

Had Lenny?

Been looking for him?

He falls into step with him, the two of them left behind. They walk about two blocks in uncomfortable silence, and Jack can't find a proper way to thank him - so he doesn't.

"Got a light?" Is what he asks, fishing out a cigarette from his own pack and gesturing towards Lenny with it. His fellow trainee taps a couple of pockets before a frown takes over his features and he leans forward instead, way too close to light Jack's fag with his own. He doesn't take it out of his mouth to do so, and he cups a hand around it to shield it from the cold night's air.

The warmth catches on with unnerving slowness. Or so Jack thinks, as he stays still and takes in Leonard's features. His cheeks are flushed and his dark hair is a bit of a mess. And still his breath smells faintly of a sweet pint of beer.

"You're sluggish" Lenny tells him when he fails to catch up again. Jack speeds up. "Don't let the officers see you like that" he adds.

"I'm not drunk" Jack bites back.

Except he is, a little.

"You knocked down half a bottle of whisky, of course you're fucking drunk," Lenny blows away the smoke and casts a glance his way. "And I'll be damned if I walk in with you in that state."

"I didn't ask ye to walk me, go ahead" Jack gestures towards the road, silent and deserted. He takes a long drag of the cigarette without thinking twice of it. He's become a smoker in the span of forty-eight hours, apparently. "Go on. Wouldn't want ye to get in trouble because of me" he adds, a tad bit sarcastic.

_Especially not when I'm out of the Force already._ Collins adds in his head. _Wouldn't do to drag you down with me, the war effort needs men like you on the air._

Lenny doesn't press on, he keeps walking next to him despite Jack's ill-mannered words.

And Jack, deep within, feels rather grateful for it. For the company. The path to the university building crosses the woods at some point - the quicker path, the shortcut if you're walking - and with this eerie weather, well, not a very nice trip to make alone.

Not that he'd ever admit to that.

"We'll be shipped to Canada for practical" Lenny comments, cigarette smoke flying upwards from his mouth just a moment after. "After first assessments, that is"

Jack hums non-committally.

"About... pffft... two weeks from now?" Lenny turns to him to get a confirmation, and Jack's not sure he's got that information - either way, he won't be among that lot.

"Yeah" he mumbles as he takes the last drag of the fag and steps on it. He wraps his arms around himself and squints to make out the sign post they're approaching. That should be their cue to turn right into the trees and out of the road. They should come right up the back of the building in about ten minutes - twenty if they lose their bearings.

"I can see you're thrilled" Lenny does, in fact, turn right, and Jack follows and the worst of the mist is left behind as they enter the sea of trees and wet soil.

"Are _you_?"

"Are you not sick of theoretics? Sitting down in front of a board for hours on end? Having to put up with Mr. Stuck-Up? Can't wait to get into a proper plane that takes me far away from his shit-eating face."

Jack snorts out a laugh at that, and Lenny sports a triumphant smile.

They fall silent again, for a couple of minutes only the sound of their boots stepping over fallen branches and leaves.

Then Leonard speaks again, with a gentler voice this time.

"I really wasn't aiming at you, you know" he says, softly, like a personal thought he's not quite sure he should be voicing out. It takes Jack a couple of seconds to brush off the odd feeling - he stops for an instant, looks at his mate's back as Lenny doesn't bother looking at him - almost as if he's ashamed.

Jack takes a slow breathe in. If there's something he never thought he'd be doing in his lifetime, that was having a civil conversation with Leonard Norton of all people.

But here they were, walking back together and not actually minding each other's presence at all.

"I know" Jack says in turn, gently as well.

And maybe it's the fact that he hasn't talked to anyone about it yet, the fact that he snatched the leaflet from the counter at the pub in a quick enough motion that no-one else saw him do it, pocketing it immediately and making up his mind and having a bit too much alcohol to stop himself from thinking of it. It's a nagging sensation of needing to be supported, of needing to get it off his chest - he blurts out the words in a hurried breath.

"I'm enlisting tomorrow in Welton."

Leonard trips over a fallen branch but doesn't fall. He does, however, turn to stare at him with his lips slightly parted, at a loss for words.

Jack stops too, keeps his hands in his pockets and looks at Lenny, whose eyes are scanning him from head to toe - and they must be near the clearing if he can make out his facial expressions this easily. Less leafy trees.

He looks him up and down with a quizzical look as if Jack's grown another head.

"You're that certain about your tests" Lenny says, a simple statement.

Collins sniffs - he's underdressed, decided to leave his sweater back at the dormitory earlier - and the effects of the alcohol have definitely died off by now.

He just nods, and resumes walking, this time Lenny catching up.

"But that's - not necessary, you can try again with the next batch"

Jack lets out a laugh.

Starting from scratch with the newest recruits, not a chance.

"I only ever joined because of me dad, not big on numbers, me. Or books._ Or_ studying"

"That's initial training, though. Not many books in Canada I reckon, it's called practical for a reason"

"I figure I'll do my part either way. I used to do target practice every day after lunch, with grandad's--"

"Hear me out, it's a bit rushed all this, don't you think?" Lenny cuts in, and one of his hands grabs him by the shoulder and makes him halt, almost in a nervous manner. "You don't even know your marks yet"

Jack can't help but smile at what seems to be Leonard's genuine concern on the subject. He gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder and starts to walk again.

Just a breath after Lenny is next to him again.

"What time? Tomorrow?"

"Dunno, nine-ish?" Jack answers, not really remembering the information on the leaflet but not quite wanting to take his hands out of his pockets to read it either. "Why? Ye coming?" He teases.

"So you're planning to sneak out and take the train to Welton without being dismissed from RAF first? Without even knowing your test results? Sounds stupid if you ask me"

"I'm not asking you"

"You must admit it's not very clever" Lenny insists.

"I thought we'd already established the fact that I'm not very clever"

"Yes, that we have"

Jack stops on his tracks to glare at Lenny, who halts next to him and returns the glare rather pocker-faced. The rest of the walk is made in silence, they reach the clearing at the back of the college building and turn round to enter through the main door, where they know a superior to be waiting by the hall to check no one's tripping over their feet.

The cold has sobered him up, so Collins is barely spared a glance by the Lieutenant, who nonetheless gives them a mouthful on the dirty boot tracks they leave behind.

"Take those off!" He orders just before they turn round the corner.

* * *

At 7 sharp, with a much more bearable headache than he'd expected to wake up to and wearing the same crumpled nicotine-smelling jacket he'd slept in, Jack firmly laces up his boots and makes his way to the empty bathroom facilities, stormimg through the also empty corridors of a Sunday task-free morning.

Nobody would be up before midday. Today was meant for test results and congratulatory meals. Tomorrow they'd be given a timetable and all activity would be resumed.

He, on the other hand, would probably be out of the training programme by then - and out of Yorkshire, for that matter.

He splashes the cold water over his face and leans on the sink, sudden nausea taking over. Soon as it comes, it leaves, however, and Jack is almost certain the previous night drinking has little to do with his stomach ache.

He doesn't let himself think about it. And he doesn't stop to think about the unstopping falling of rain either, when he steps out the main door and sees that the patch of grass in front of the marble steps is nothing but a gigantic poodle of mud. It takes him two seconds to make up his mind, and he closes the door behind him and makes a run for it.

No time to lose. He's got to be back before they notice he's gone or else - well. Or else he'll get an earful, and he'd really rather avoid that.

**Author's Note:**

> Well guys, I figured I'd post this even though Farrier doesn't make an appearance. He'll be back on the next one!


End file.
